Flip Book

Today I was scrolling back through my life, like looking back down this road I chose, but in reverse. And as I was watching this, like a virtual flip book (thanks Facebook) I thought: wow, I really lived, and wow, what a mess I made!  But I noticed the same few people pop in and out of the different chapters of my life; my sisters, who were there through the chaos, and destruction, and separate paths of self discovery. It's like we had all these different lifetimes together, and though they all looked so different, they each had that same love. 

There were so many seasons that I'd forgotten about; (mostly because they felt like ages ago, but also because we weren't always all there) the college parties, man, the crash after a long night of drinking (very unflattering images), make up dripping down my face after the club, and friends scattered on the sidewalk with their shoes off.  You ever see a picture of yourself and think: Jesus, what was I doing? Yea, those are my favorite. And looking back I don't feel ashamed or embarrassed about any of it (although like I said, not cute). I actually feel really happy that I let myself experience all of that. The silliness, the dumb decisions, the border line criminal activity- it was fun, and there was some form of freedom in allowing myself to experience it.

We're all grown up now (I don't know who authorized this), and I am grateful that I satisfied all my curiosities back then. Not to say there aren't things I want to explore and discover now, there are. But it's not the same. Back then I wanted to play with fire. I was thrill seeking, and pushing limits. I couldn't just enjoy a concert. No, I had to crowd surf, get dropped, then try again. Yes, I was that girl trying to get on stage. (Side note-- remember when raves were a thing? rolling and strobe lights, and neon paint? Makes me nauseous just thinking about it-- but to each its own, i just can't hang anymore). 

My lifestyle has shifted immensely. Now I'm more into finding creative outlets, good books, nature, peaceful, quiet moments, family, friends, intimate conversations, etc, etc. (I'm still a sucker for some good live music though) But anyways, maybe I just maxed out my capacity for that life. It just feels too loud and dense for me now. So I've shifted from seeking excitement to finding joy. I've learned that you don't have to look far for that. It's really everywhere if you pay attention, it just took me some time to slow down and be present enough for it. 

I think I've shared this somewhere on this blog before, but looking back to where I've been and where I am now has been one of the greatest ways for me to generate gratitude in my life. Hope it works for you <3

I Built This Fire

Alone,

I conquer,

really almost anything.
I've built this fire with my own hands. 

I survive just fine,

just me. I know what to do.

Raging and warm, bursting with pride,

I sit with it.

It's beautiful, these flames, 

that crack and crumble.

The light entices me,

and I waver between knowing

it needs to be fed but not smothered.

It can not grow without space to breathe.

So I shift the pieces to different places,

and it thrives.

But the brightness starts to scare me,

because I can't contain it.

I grow dizzy with worry

of its consumption,

that its power will destroy 

everything,

including me.

So I sit with it, again,

feeling its heat hit my face,

trusting the path of ashes as they fall.

Knowing I am the creator and destroyer,

the creation and destruction.

This whole cycle, 

is me.

And I am not alone

Tennis Lessons pt 2

I was watching the US open with my husband recently, which was pretty intense. I can’t image playing a 4 hour tennis match without keeling over a couple of times. It’s incredible. Anyways, I wasn’t really cheering for anyone in particular, I’ve never been one to latch on to a team or player. (My husband, completely different story, he’s a die hard). I’ll root for a team here and there, but at the end of it, I don’t care who wins. I’m not heart broken that “my” team loses, because these people on tv are still among the most fit, talented, skilled athletes in the world. They’re great even when they lose, they’re doing what they love, and they’re still getting a fat paycheck. 

I bring this up for a couple of reasons. First because I think it’s interesting how as humans we work all our lives to find meaning and value in what we do. Yet, there are people who play sports for a living, and they are some of the most praised, valued people (at least monetarily) in our entire society. I’m not undermining the amount of time and work it takes to become a professional athlete, because that is no joke (like I said, I wouldn’t have made it through a single one of those matches). But people have non-conventional jobs all the time and are judged for it. 

So one of the beautiful opportunities these people have is their audience. They have a mass amount of people following them, idolizing them, and trying to be them in any way they can. They act as an inspiration to the masses, and can utilize this platform to evoke change. We give them their wealth, and in turn, some share the wealth of knowledge and wisdom from their personal journeys. A lot of these athletes have non-profit organizations, give back to the community, and share the message that anything is possible with the right mindset. (Again, not all of them are preaching to the choir, but some are, and it’s beautiful). To me, this was a reminder that we all have a platform, and a voice, it’s just a matter of having the confidence to speak freely with it.

Anyways, back to the US open… so Novak Djokovic wins the finals, to nobody’s surprise. And with this win he’s broken several records, with the big one being that he’s won 24 grand slams. My husband and I are watching as he goes to his kids first, his family, and celebrates with his team. We are bursting with sympathetic joy, you can feel the happiness through the screen. I feel like I just won. But then he gives a speech about getting to where he is. About how he stuck with his 7 year old dream, much with the support of his family. He didn’t have anyone in his family who played tennis, but he loved it, he knew it was for him, and he stuck with it.

At this point I’m crying. Imagine being 7 years old with the confidence that one day all your dreams would come true. And then imagine being surrounded with people who were like, “ya, duh, of course they will.”  How fricken beautiful. It also made me wonder what we all would be doing if we followed our childhood dreams. If we were all out here playing out a life we dreamt of in our innocence, and a life fueled by what we loved. I for one, would be the first female in the MLB (Chicago Cubs, or maybe the Yankees). I’d be on my second novel at leasttttt. I did actually choose dentistry when I was this age, but that’s because I didn’t think I’d make it as a writer, and I was told I couldn’t play baseball with the boys. Granted, no one told me these things were impossible either, I labeled them myself as pipe dreams.

So i’ll wrap this up with another lesson I learned from tennis: “don’t let dreams be dreams.” (whatever that might mean to you)

Solace

I'll preface this post, which is very different. I wrote this as more of a rant. I journal, and blog some of the journal entries that I find interesting, often after time has passed and I look back on them. This rant was very choppy thoughts and feelings that I didn't feel needed elaboration. Here, I turned it into a more peom-like structure. En-joy.

____________________________

Sealed doors and silence. 

Too long you lingered, we lingered, swaying in a doorway. 

Push, pull, back and forth we swung, unhinged. Unaligned, unforgiven. 

In our separate spaces we rise, never sinking in the pressure to co-exist. 

The why nots, the what ifs; a distant memory. 

I see me now. 

Through my eyes. 

Without your lens, dense and skewed. 

All blurred lines and hindsight.

Love flows. 

For me. From me.

it sprouts, extending over any distance, through any void. 

It can reach you, if you let it. 

Open up and receive. 

Relish in the knowing, 

we are love, on our own.

Dancing down our separate roads, feet barely on the ground.

Choosing this allows us that. 

Without you here so you can be. 

Detached and free.

Aligned alone over fallen together; 

the truest form of love.  

6 Stages of Change

Today I finished a CE course called "Behavioral Issues in Dentistry." I looked for more clinically based courses, but I’m mostly interested in people. In behavior, beliefs, in evolution. In ascension. Dentistry is just the field I chose in which to explore that, and honestly it was a good choice. Because our patients have a lot of fear, and our industry has a lot of programming. There’s control, the need to fix things, the people pleasing, the perfectionism, etc etc. I’m generalizing here, but this is what I’ve seen, what I’ve read about, and what I’ve experienced. 

This CE reminded me that we are always wavering between different phases in our lives, particularly if we’re constantly aiming higher for ourselves. It listed the 5 stages of change; 1. pre-contemplation, 2. contemplation, 3. preparation, 4. action, and 5. maintenance. On my personal journey, I saw this as:  1. shit, this isn’t really working for me, 2. should I do something?, 3. what do I do?, 4. alright I’m going for it, 5. okay this is better. 

Then there’s this phase: Relapse. This can happen in an instant. (First, lets clarify that relapse isn't just about addiction, this is about changed behavior).  It can feel like you’ve been working and pushing yourself up this hill (metaphorically), but all you did was a big loop and you’re exactly where you started. It’s the 3 steps forward and 2 steps back feeling. I had this moment a couple years ago, when I thought I’d reached a mastery over my emotional responses. When I felt an emotion, I turned inward. I questioned it, the stories I had, the truth in it, and then I made a conscious response. I was in maintenance, and life was great. But then, when a big enough trigger came around for me, I snapped so quickly that I couldn't even remember the process I’d been practicing. I was devastated. Less about the situation at hand, and more so about the feeling that I hadn’t changed at all.

This course hit home with the reminder that: “Relapse should not be viewed as failure, but as part of the ongoing process of growth.” It’s okay to take a step back. Growth is non-linear, and sometimes feeling that regression is a kick in the ass. When you’re back where you started and it doesn't feel right to you, that’s just confirmation that this version of you has expired. This isn’t you anymore, there is a better, higher version of you that is present. That old version of you is just fighting for its life, it wants to be held onto. Love it, thank it for getting you to where you are, and let it go. 

Tennis Lessons

So I've recently picked up tennis. And by that I mean, I'm taking lessons and classes because I'm clueless about this sport. It's been on my radar since dental school, and I've recently had an urge to learn something new. I was feeling stagnant, and was craving some mental stimulation.

As I’m learning the sport, I’m learning a lot about myself. After my first class, I was hooked. It was a learning experience, physically challenging, and competitive (to me at least, because I am naturally competitive).  The challenge and beauty of it was that I had to surrender to the fact that I know nothing, and be in complete student mode. I then had to (and am still working on) unlearning all of my softball driven muscle memory so that I can rewire my mind and body for tennis. I've spent the last couple of years rewiring my thinking and patterns. It's hard, but I got good at it. Doing this physically is completely new to me.

As I’ve continued on this journey, my experience has shifted a bit. 90% of the time, I am having the time of my life on the court, I’m high on endorphins, and my time playing is just not enough. It’s like I could go on forever. The other 10%, I am completely enraged. I want to hit all of the balls out of the court, then smash my racket, and throw my water bottle at the fence. Honestly, I would destroy anything in my vicinity in this blinding rage. I get so angry because I feel like I’m not improving. I am mad that I’m not better, I am angry at the fact that I’m aware of what I’m doing wrong but I’m not correcting it. My dysfunctional muscle memory takes over, and it’s like my body is not doing what my mind is telling it to do. It is a disconnect with myself. 

This anger is unfamiliar to me. I am not an angry person, and I let very little actually get me riled up. That’s the other thing, this feeling is new, its different, and I don’t know what to do with it. Sometimes I can breathe through it, take a break, and come back to neutral. Other times, I just have to walk away and accept that today was trash. Throw it out and move on. What I’m finding, however, is that this feeling, this anger, is coming up for me outside of tennis too. It’s like when you buy a new car and see it everywhere on the road. I am recognizing this feeling in me, in my every day life. This is more frustrating because when I’m playing tennis, I am angry with my tennis abilities. When I am just living my life, I can’t identify the source of it. I am assuming that it’s the same: a disconnect.

So I am learning grace and patience for myself. (Am i?) I am feeling how angry I am with myself for all the times I’ve been disconnected, for all the stupid choices I’ve made, for all the regrets I’ve had, for all the times when I knew I was doing the wrong thing but continued simply due to muscle memory/because I was stuck in a pattern. I CAN rewire my mind and my body to work together, to function optimally, to produce the most benevolent outcome in all aspects of my life. I know this. I just have to keep going, one day at a time. 

So I'll share with you.. my reminders to me..

I am where I’m supposed to me.

I am perfectly imperfect.

Every obstacle is an opportunity for growth.

Just enjoy the journey.

 

My Map Home

 Dream from Last night:

I am in South Williamsport, it's that time of year again. The Little League World Series are started and the town is alive. I'm there with Abe, who is on a work call. "I'm going to go to the stadium while you do your work thing," I tell him, and he waves me away but walks behind me as I go. I make my way up to this gift shop at the top of the hill, and there was so much candy in it. "I've dreamt of this place," I think. I try to tell Abe that this is the place where I had that dream I told him about. I am so excited, because everything is exactly as I remembered it. 

I look out the window over Lamade stadium and see the kids sliding downhill on pieces of cardboard. I don't know why this was the funnest thing in the world when we were younger. It was like sledding with no snow.  I wanted to be out there. I wanted to try it again now that I'm older, even though it seems ridiculous to me now. But I felt like I was stuck in the store. I could see the stadium and the hills rising behind it, I could see the green grass, and suddenly I could see South Williamsport from a birds eye view, like I was looking at it on Google maps. I looked at the neighborhoods, and saw a house with a pool in the back. "Wow, I didn't know they had a pool," I thought. "They were wealthier than I thought."

I could see East Mountain Ave, looping around to meet Southside Park. There's the hill we used to bike down. We thought it was the steepest hill alive, and prayed that we'd make it to the bottom, but now I knew it probably wasn't steep at all. Everything was so lush and glowing in shades of vibrant greens. From the map I was seeing, I mapped a path back home. I used my finger like a Stylist on this screen and drew an exit from this store, the Stadium, and then the complex. A sharp left and then up the winding road, and then I'd be there.

I set out on this path, twisting through the store like a maze. I got out of a window and made it to the stadium, quickly making my way back. When I exited the complex, I was on a street I knew. There was a rusted, dome shaped bridge that I'd dreamt about! In that dream I was trying to go home with two friends, but it was dark and raining, and one of them got hit by a car. Now it was bright and clear, with no traffic in sight. I continued to walk up it until I was on my street. 

I stood there, on East Mountain Avenue, when Abe came to me and expressed, "You said you were just checking the stadium out while I was on my call." He was angry. He was mad that I'd spent so much time frolicking around, and he didn't want to be there. "I'm not here for this," he said, "so I've booked a couple nights at a hotel nearby." I was very taken back by this and told him I was done, and I'd go with him. But then I saw this small hotel room. It was dark and felt suffocating. Just like that he was gone, and I was there alone, staring at my childhood home. 

I walked right past it. I walked to the end of the street, to where my best friend lived. It was less of a dream and more of a memory. I looked at all my neighbors' homes and remembered each of them. I could smell the pine trees and see the cracks on the sidewalk that we always made sure to jump over (you know, so we wouldn't break our momma's backs). As I got closer to my best friends house, I could see her with her parents, and with a child. I assumed this little 6 year old brunette was her niece, although her brothers weren't in sight. She stood by her side, while her family all embraced each other. It looked like they were having a reunion. I could feel the joy and the warmth, they were glowing. They kissed and hugged, and in that moment I decided not to interrupt. I let them enjoy it, and I enjoyed it from a distance too. Then I turned around, and walked back down the street, back home.

Divinity

Inspired on my bike.

______________________________

I found God

in flower ridden fields

in dancing drops of rain

in rays of heated sun light,

in sifting winds,

and grass tickled toes.

I found God

echoed back to me,

at every turn, 

enveloping me

in a love run rampant.

Electric through me, 

emanating from me,

I found God.

My First Dream

My first dream in life was to be a writer. If you know me, you know this.

I used to write stories for fun, back when I was still using the notebook paper with the dotted lines in the middle. When i wasn’t writing, I was reading. Not just for entertainment, but to learn how the authors developed their characters, to study the storyline and plot formation, and to expand my vocabulary. 

When I was 7 I started to write my first novel. In hindsight this is hilarious because I was a child, but it was real to me. I was writing about a girl transitioning into womanhood. A girl who was torn between a life she had and a life she dreamed of. She lived on a farm, owned and run by her family, a farm that she was expected to help with, to work at, and to continue with as it was the family business. She knew her duties and she was good at them. But she had other dreams, of the city, of living in a place swarmed with different people from different walks of life, of endless possibilities, of experience and expansion, of being whoever she chose to be, rather than who she was told to be. 

One day, not too long after I’d moved from Pennsylvania to Massachusetts, I printed out the 38 pages I’d typed up so I could review it as a whole and edit some. I edited a lot. I struck out lines and words, I marked the pages up until it looked like it must all be wrong, and I decided it just wasn’t good enough. I shredded it. I deleted it. I stopped writing for a very long time, unless it was for school.

I continued to read though. A lot. And I was just as much of a critic to those writers as I was to myself (still am, I won’t lie). And when I found something moving, or beautiful, or genius (there was more of this than not), then I was so blown away, so dumbstruck that I had to take a break from reading before moving to  the next book, simply out of respect, like waiting to hop into a new relationship after a break up. However, these books continued to deter my writing, because how could I ever measure up to that? 

I started writing stories again when 1. I had lived a little more life, and 2. I gained some confidence in myself (college). 

But putting them on paper is one thing, sharing them is another. I’ll show you why. Take these excerpts:  

—(Just winging it here) “His hand brushed mine as we walked down the dirt road. We didn’t speak or exchange looks, but I could feel him next to me, his steps matching my every breath, my every heart beat.”

— (From “Sunday Cycling”) “I watch the waves crash against the concrete steps that line the lake, but some days the water is perfectly still with no current at all. My breath slows and deepens as I watch the clouds form shapes above me. I am so heavy on the ground, it feels like I’m sinking into the dirt. I am so connected to the world around me that I can feel the tree branches swaying in the wind.”

As writers we try to paint a picture for the reader so they can feel like they’re there, or relate to the emotions in the story. We learned this in english class— create imagery, be detailed, etc etc. But for me, I was simply sharing my experiences. I was sharing the world through my eyes, how I see things, how my body feels, where my mind goes in those moments. You see my values and my humor, my joy and my pain. If it’s fiction, then I am creating a world through my perception of life (of what it is, or of what I want it to be). And THAT is like being naked onstage. It’s raw, it’s vulnerable, it’s intimate, and it’s fucking terrifying to put on display for the world to see. 

I clearly am not in that space anymore, since this blog shares way too much information about my personal life, and I have literally been almost naked on stage for the world to see (bikini comp). Anyways… If I never truly tried to be writer, if I never put all of my eggs in that basket, then I could never fail, right? But ain’t that the saddest way to live your life? ( I hate the word “ain’t”).

So I am done getting in my own way, I am done with fear, I am here to be seen, understood, misunderstood, called crazy, ambushed with tomatoes to the face, whatever you wish, I really don’t care. 

Completion

Recently, I was laying on my couch, scrolling through my Instagram page, just reminiscing. It was my last day of work at the office and I’d felt a huge relief as I let that chapter of my life go, a sense of completion if you will. I was done with this job and moving forward in my life despite my lack of direction. 

I scrolled past pictures of me in college, in different countries, with friends, family, of me working, and partying, of baby pictures, of nature, and art. It hit me in that moment that I have done everything I’ve ever wanted, that I HAVE everything I have ever wanted. I pursued the career I’d always dreamed of and kept my hobbies alive, I travelled the world, I’ve witnessed divinity in nature, and have met beautiful people from all walks of life. I am an athlete and a writer, a body builder and an artist, a student and a teacher, an adult and a child. I’ve been lost, and remembered who I am. I’ve walked in darkness, and also shared my light. I’ve hurt people and have helped them heal. I learned how to heal myself. I have known love. True, unconditional, expansive love, for me and from me. I’ve been a friend and a wife, an aunt and a stepmom. 

Being in this space— the knowing that I have experienced it all, that I have been everything at one time or the other, makes every additional moment of this human experience just icing on the cake.

Snowed In

Giving Poetry a shot =]

_________________________________________

Come In.

Shut the door behind you.

Seal us from the outside, 

a world

icing over. 

Peel your layers off,

drop your coat.

Revel in the warmth that floats 

abundantly between us.

We are safe here.

Shielded 

from the elements.

From the past, from the future,

from our fears.

Time dances around us to an endless tune,

but is lost.

Our beat creates it’s own harmony,

aligned,

expansive,

felt, not heard,

in waves of joy. 

Through love.

When you go,

walking over solid water,

stand firm in your knowing

that Grace will guide us.

Listen

to the melody within.

A song that strings

you to you.

A song I hear

only with my heart. 

Dream Team (dream)

I don’t know how I got here, I just am. I’m roaming on what feels like a marsh. Sand sinks under my feet, and tall grass surrounds me. Although I am close to the sea, I’m also on the the edges of a forest. I don’t know why I’m here. But then I see him. He’s wandering through a space densely populated with trees and shrubs. He’s carrying a pack of equipment on his back, it looks like a bag of tools and survival needs. He uses the machete in his hand to clear the path in front of him. I just watch, realizing I’m here in the wilderness with nothing but a t shirt and jeans. 

“What is he doing?” I think. I watch him trek around, but I can see him both from where I stand and a birds eye view. Does he know that he’s just wandering in circles?

I intercept him, and he looks shocked to see me. 

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He tells me about a thesis he’s writing, his life’s project, his gift to the world. He tells me how he’s going to show the world how to access an other world experience. He gets into scientist mode and shares his findings on the laws of physics and how limiting they’ve been to us. “There is another form of existence out there for us,” he shares, “and we can all access it, we just need to be taught how.” He shares about this life in a higher dimension, a heavenly experience on an earth rid of war, rid of hate, and fueled by love.

“I have all the tools,” he tells me. “I just need to get there.”

I smile at him, in admiration and understanding. “I know exactly how to get there,” I share. “I have the map.”

I grab his hand and start walking to where the forest meets the beach. He used his tools to clear our path. We walk up some hills and through different vegetations, until we arrive at this beautiful, ancient tree. “This is it,” I tell him, “this is the bridge.” He doesn’t question it or me, although he doesn’t understand. I turned to him and said, “I will show you.”

The tree trunk before us is like a hologram. It has the appearance of rigid, dried out bark, but I can push my hand right through it. I step in, holding his hand in mine. Like a laundry shoot, we’re dropped down and slide through a massive, dark tunnel. We slide so far but so fast, it feels like our entire journey happens in an instant.

We’re deposited on the sandy marsh, much like the one we’d come from, but completely different. The shore is exploding in colorful flowers, blends of colors I can’t describe. Water hits the shore with calming waves. The sky is a vibrant blue with streaks of color, as if the land was reflected in it. A tall, beautiful, white house sits at the top of a hill, overlooking the sea. It’s not hot or humid, but the air feels warm and tingly, like that feeling you get when your crush puts his arm around you. People are roaming everywhere, just frolicking and playing, we could hear the laughter from where we were. 

“We’re here.” I say, but we both just take it in in silence.

“All this time I’ve been searching, and you had a map?” he says, almost in a whisper.

“Yea,” I answered. I had a map, but I didn’t know of what, until he told me what he was searching for.

“Well, we have to go back,” he says. “We have to backtrack, and draw it out, and collect data. I have to write it out.”

I didn’t want to go back. But I understood that we could open this up for everyone, we could shift everything with our findings. And his thesis— that was his mission here.  And I knew that we could only do it together. 

*****************************************************************************************

Over the next few nights I dreamt of this journey— of us going back and forth, taking notes and mapping this out. We wrote abstracts and brainstormed titles.. it was like being back in college again.

 

Going Home (dream)

I woke up and tossed the white sheets to the side to free my face. I saw him laying beside me, still sleeping. As I sat up and looked around, I realized I was in the room I grew up in, at my parent’s house. I smiled and thought, “I am home.”

I turned over to cuddle him, and put my arm around his body. He squirmed uncomfortably under my touch, and subtly tried to push me away. I knew then that he wasn’t sleeping, and that he wanted to be left alone. So I let him go. I turned over to my side, leaving a large space between us. We were practically on opposite edges of the bed. 

As I closed my eyes to sleep again, I felt him his arm land on my waist, and it was as if his entire being was embracing me in a bear hug. It was peaceful and warm, and all I could do was smile.

We both got up and walked through my parents’ house. Except the house was changing in front of me. The living room opened up and had vaulted ceilings and spiral staircases. The interior was all cherry wood with velvet reds, there were floor to ceiling bookshelves and fireplaces turned up in flames. It looked like the mansion from Beauty In the Beast. It was stunning. 

“Let’s go upstairs, it gets better,” I said to him.

So we walked, hand in hand, up the staircases and past members of my family. They each had something to say. 

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” my dad said. I didn’t respond, and just thought, no dad, keep up.

My mom questioned, “who is that man?”

My brother came along with another remark.. “well what about…”

They each came to me like children full of fears and anxiety. But I did not stop to entertain them, we did not engage. I moved past them as if in my own protected bubble of bliss. I floated past them, smiling as I climbed higher and higher to spaces I’d never seen before. 

Dismantled

What if you just let go of your whole life? Let it fall apart at the seams. Step away from your job, forget about your 401k or your investments, or that “what am I supposed to do next” thought. Wake up in the morning whenever your body is ready, and feel out what you want to do that day. What’s calling your soul? 

The part of me that is a “realist” (stuck in the perceived truths of this reality) says yea right. How can you live that way when there are three thousand and forty one things to worry about, to do, to plan for, and that could go wrong. I was taught to work, to fulfill certain social roles, and to build security for my future. Check off all those boxes, and don’t question how limiting it is to be able to fit into any or all of them.

Another aspect of me is just observing myself in the life I’ve created already. I went to school for 8 years, became a doctor, supported myself, moved across the country alone, and travelled to various regions of the world. I look at all that I’ve done and I KNOW that I can do absolutely anything. Because the reality is, I already have.

So I’m here, at this nexus point (again) where I’d like to let it all go. People ask me “how do you do it?” Well, for one, I live a simple life. I am unattached, in several ways. I have no mortgage, car payments, or kids. I am responsible for nobody but myself, and this way of life was a choice. I am unattached from the need to have a mortgage, new car, or kids, to climb the latter at work, or to save the world. These were all very important to me at one point. I needed them like you might need a new iPhone when it comes out. 

Now I am satisfied with the smallest moments of this human experience; hot coffee on my patio, unstructured writing, baking and feeding the people I love, simple interactions with the people I come across, the smell of damp grass in the morning, the colors of the sun reflecting off the clouds, the sound of my own breathing.

With every aspect of my life dismantled, I can get up and ask myself why i am doing what I choose to do. Is it enhancing my ability to enjoy these experiences, or getting in the way of them? This short human experience is a collection of moments, and these moments are OUR choice. 

So what is calling your soul?